


Dirty Habits (Help Me Forget)

by coolcath



Category: Free!
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Partying, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolcath/pseuds/coolcath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been nine days. Nine whole days, and he hasn’t killed himself. To be honest, he finds this feat to be impressive. What he’s doing instead, however, is a debatable matter.</p><p>Since Haruka's death, Makoto has had a hard time pulling himself out of the pit he's dug himself with grief. He decides he would rather feel something rather than nothing at all. However, he may come to regret that decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Habits (Help Me Forget)

On the ninth day, Makoto clutches the toilet bowl and vomits the contents of his stomach, throat burning from the alcohol that comes up from the depths of his stomach. On the ninth day, his tears mix with the liquefied food that pours out of him as loud disco music pumps and pulses in the background like a beating heart waiting to burst while the smell of cheap body lotion, sex, and beer wafts around him in the dirty club bathroom. 

It's the ninth day, and he still hasn't forgotten.

How could he, really? His entire life, from start to now, was completely over, taken away by a car crash. His life and love was rushing home with a ring in his pocket, never even noticing the semi-truck. 

The memory of getting the news coaxed more out of Makoto's stomach, and his finger nails scratched at the porcelain bowl's surface. Once getting the call, he had rushed to the scene only to find paramedics lying a black blanket over a body, the car he was so familiar with torn and broken to pieces. They had to drag him from the scene with the help of Nagisa and Rei, whom he had called as he was on his way. Rei still has a slight bruise below his eye where Makoto struggled to make them let him go.

The funeral was no better. People crying while he had none left to give. He could see everyone stare at him. At his sunken, dark eyes brimming with tears but not enough to let them spill over. At his disheveled hair, matted and sweaty since he hadn't washed it since the day the deed had been done. At the scratches on his neck and hands--a nervous habit he had had since junior high. At the overall aura he gave off. He was the shadow of a man that had lost his will to live.

He went home that night sick of condolences. He appreciated everyone's words, but at the same time he just wanted everyone to drop it, to leave him be and to let the subject die down. He didn't want to be reminded. His life was a living hell.

Waking up into the third day, his back strained from sleeping at the dining room table all night with the ring box opened to show a thin, silver band with a small diamond embedded in it. He had it engraved, reading:

_Everything I do is for you._

Makoto didn't dare put the ring on. Gingerly sniffing the box, he cried hot tears the night before when he could smell his lover on it. It smelled of chlorine, cooking oil, and fresh air. Like summer afternoons they spent in high school, then later in college, then in their own home. 

The box smelled like Haru, and Makoto almost resented it for that.

He almost thought he would die of dehydration every time he cried. Hot, salty tears trailing his cheeks and dripping onto the table or his clothes as he moaned and whimpered, sometimes going as far as to scream. Running his fingers through his hair, wanting to tear the strands out, he would claw at his neck and wrists, scared and wanting to forget and feel something, anything but  _this._ The pain of waking up in his bed, the sheets beside him cold and untouched, was absolute hell, so he just stopped sleeping in his bed completely. He even tried to put his sleep to a halt altogether. He dreamed of  _him_  every time, coming closer to him, but never able to touch of see him clearly. He would beg Haru to stop, to come back, but before he could, Makoto would wake up.

For days his diet consisted of coffee, energy drinks, and alcohol.

Makoto was never much of a drinker before, never really finding pleasure in heavy doses, but maybe having a few sips here and there at dinner parties and gatherings. The minute he found their alcohol stash saved from past holidays, the drinks given as gifts, it was all gone within the next few hours. A bottle and a half of hard liquor, a few cans of beer, and a third of a bottle of wine downed, he spent the next few hours horribly drunk and the morning after extremely hungover, hugging the trashcan like his life depended on it. That night, though, he realized something.

He slept without dreaming.

He was able to live through a night's sleep without waking up crying or falling out of the bed.

Along with this, for the first time in a week, he was actually feeling something. Granted, it wasn't very pleasant, but it was something. He wasn't empty, not counting his stomach. It was hard to think when you have the breath of an alcoholic and liquid pouring out of your mouth. Believing he found the key to getting through a night, perhaps even the day, he went out and bought more once feeling mildly better. Filling the alcohol cabinet completely, even having to settle leaving some out, he stared at his work, satisfied, before getting to work on his first bottle. 

He woke up the next morning on the bathroom floor smelling of alcohol and some vomit.

Since then, he had been drinking at home, until tonight. Earlier he had decided to mix it up, the alcohol at home beginning to lose it's affect. The night before, he thought he almost dreamed something, and it was still easy to remember why he was doing all of this. Of course he still cried, but most of the time he couldn't remember it, waking up the morning after with a killer hangover. So today, he drove over to the nearest club, a hole in the wall, and began his night with a drink in hand and music in his ears.

Surrounded by so many people, he hit his limit early. The music was so loud that he could barely think. The whole experience was a mixture of being great and utterly horrible. It was a good enough distraction though.

Which brings us to now. A certain Makoto spewing bile out of his system. For a few days he had gotten pretty good at not throwing up, his tolerance level for alcohol building with every drink he had, but due to this new atmosphere he couldn't help it. Mixed with the nervousness, the alcohol was bound to come back up, pieces of the power bar and toast he ate earlier in the mix.

Completely exhausted after emptying himself, he washed out his mouth, popped in a mint, and decided to call it a night. He made his way out of the bathroom, eyes feeling strained under the multi-colored strobe lights that flashed around him and the swarm of bodies dancing and perspiring together. The music and colors seemed to bang around in his head. Dizziness overcame him, and all he knew was he had to get out of there as fast as possible or he risked vomiting whatever could be left in his system. The ground began to sway beneath him, air and sounds blurring and his sight becoming fuzzy. He thinks he feels his pocket vibrate, but he is unable to reach for it. He takes one more step before his leg gives out, hands outstretched. He hears a few surprised gasps and slowly tries to grab his phone, feeling like the air was thick jelly and nearly impossible to move through. When did he become so cold and so sweaty? He shivers, closing his eyes. Stomach churning, the last thing he remembers trying to do is swallow down the liquid in his throat. He groans, feeling hands on his body, but he isn't able to hang onto consciousness. Maybe just a few seconds should do...

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Tove Lo's Habits (Stay High)


End file.
